


And All The Tired Flowers

by OmniscientWreck



Series: Quiet Conversations and Loud Minds [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Excessive Drinking, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Music, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24402331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmniscientWreck/pseuds/OmniscientWreck
Summary: A few weeks following a great loss, the Nein are in a bar and Caleb starts thinking, begins to process, and looks over his shoulder and into dark corners, wishing to forget.**SPOILERS past Episode 53**
Series: Quiet Conversations and Loud Minds [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1929919
Kudos: 10





	And All The Tired Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a headcanon I have for Caleb based on Germans I’ve known who love to sing. I’m at episode 52 as we speak but there are no spoilers beyond Episode 49 though this scene takes place before that episode in particular, a couple weeks after Molly’s death in some kind of liminal space (don’t ask too many questions and sorry if this doesn’t fit in to where the plot is now or if it doesn’t exactly fit current Caleb, I just wanted to write something angsty).

Caleb of course, knew the name of the tavern the Nein had settled in but he cared not to remember. He rarely had the impulse to drown himself like this but the fire mage desperately needed to disappear. He needed to think deeply, he needed to look into the corners of himself that hurt the most, and that needed alcohol. 

Holding pace with Beau he watched as his vision blurred slightly, he let the colour in, he saw better in some ways. Beau and Jester had a lively conversation, Fjord and Caduceus sat discussing something lightheartedly, Caleb knew not what though he did know Caduceus had not yet taken a real sip from his beverage. Nott did her best to remain engaged in conversation but he noticed her frequent glances as he sat, trying to listen to Jester tell the story of the client of the Ruby’s who had only wanted her to step on various foods, but his heart was simply not in it. 

Even after Beau and Fjord had stopped drinking Caleb got another and as the rest of the group trickled off, he insisted Nott follow them, telling her he wanted to think. He retreated into a corner seat as she followed her friends up the stairs and he watched around him and let his mind wander.

He was surrounded by colourful people, beautiful people. If Mollymauk were still here he’d be charming his way into groups, adding to the joy in the atmosphere, maybe reading some fortunes or wooing other travellers. Partaking in a life Caleb could never know. Jealousy clouded his mind before he pushed it back, this life wasn’t stolen from him, he had done this to himself. 

Mollymauk’s death reminded him that though there were parts of him he thought of as dead, they lived on. They were more real than the circus man could be again. It hurt. 

The halfling barkeep brought him another round and he took a quick swig of the bitter, lukewarm ale and the bard started playing a new song and her voice passed through him like a ghost. Suddenly he was wracked with memories of Astrid and Eowulf, singing this song, and dreaming of bringing glory to the Empire. He used to love to sing. He allowed himself a brief flash of deserved anger because his love of song, that at least had legitimately been taken from him. 

At one time it could have been said he had a good voice. Caleb’s parents loved to sing him folk songs as a child and when he was old enough to learn the words they sang together. He remembered a life he once lived. 

Three voices, a family, singing in harmony. His mother’s voice high, light, and delicate. A songbird bringing comfort and familiarity. His father’s voice strong and clear like water rushing through a stream. Him in the middle, just a little bit lower than his mother’s, and as he aged it lowered and he learned from them, their longest lasting gift to him. 

Cooking, cleaning, his parents dancing around the house lifting little Caleb as he laughed and smiled at them. His mother singing him to sleep after nightmares. His mind wandered to the nightmares he still had and the lack of comfort he found within himself after being rocked by visions of endless flame.

Again he remembered his friends, Astrid and Eowulf, them singing with their fellow students in the mess hall at the Soltryce Academy. Singing so loud the professors couldn’t think straight. Learning new songs from acquaintances hailing from far away lands, sharing in their joy and teaching them the songs that still meant so much to him. 

Traitor, beytrayer. He could only imagine how they talked about him. If they still did of course. He hoped he had been forgotten by those he once cared about, hoped they’d just let him slide away, he would prefer his former self, the one he was still ashamed of, the one he still harbored a tiny piece of, to be gone. 

He hoped they didn’t miss him, hoped they didn’t want Bren back because while he may not be dead but he was certainly gone. Almost entirely. On one level Caleb also knew he deserved whatever hatred they likely harbored for him. He betrayed the empire and though that was something he did not regret, it was entirely possible that those two, so enthusiastic, were still loyal. 

Still he missed those friends, even if they were no longer on the same side, even if the warm, joyful versions of them he remembered no longer existed, even if they hated him. Nott seemed to think the past wasn’t his fault not entirely, perhaps she viewed him as a victim. Maybe she was right. If he could allow himself to adopt a part of that, if he could eventually consider that even partly true, then maybe they were victims too. He hoped they were okay. He hoped that when they sang they didn’t miss his voice. He hoped they still sang. 

The bard’s songs washed over him. He didn’t recognize many of these but her voice was sad, it had a hollow lilting quality, she sounded how he felt most days. He was relieved that others could evoke that, it made him feel less alone. He was surrounded by people who were ostensibly his friends daily, but it was here in a bar late at night as the crowd thinned out listening to a stranger’s voice that he felt a connection.

He used to try and sing to Frumpkin in the early days, but his voice had been made rough and hoarse from years of neglect, scraping along his cords. If he’d tried harder he may have been able to regain some modicum of pitch control, but his heart broke whenever he tried. He couldn’t bear to bring back the happy memories. Usually. This was the most he’d allowed himself to reflect in a very long time and the alcohol lubricated his mind allowing his intrusive thoughts to slide past more easily. It let him focus on the others and who he used to be. It let him mourn the parts of his life he couldn’t normally process as well as the ones he knew he shouldn’t mourn. 

And that’s why Caleb knew he couldn’t be good. Not now at least. A good person wouldn’t miss old friends like them, he wouldn’t miss the people who shared the qualities that he hated the most in himself. The loyalty to the empire that was still present in him, nagging him though he always made the choice to ignore it, to choose right. If he were good that would have died with Bren.  
As there were fewer and fewer patrons in the bar Caleb stood to settle his tab. He paid the barkeep and walked over to the bard. 

Putting five gold into the jar she collected her tips in, he nodded to her. She finished the song and looked up at him, smiling. Her eyes were sad too and he saw recognition. “Thank you stranger. Do you have any requests?”

He paused a moment before deciding to drive in the point he’d been making to himself all evening, “What Zemnian music do you know? I heard you play some earlier.” She thought for a moment, “I know a few songs. Sounds like you’re from there, are you missing home?” 

He sighed deeply, considering the question, chewing his answer, “No.” A small, understanding smile settled on her features and he felt her look into his soul, “I think I know what to play you.” She gestured to a chair and began to sing. 

Es geht eine dunkle Wolk herein.  
Mich deucht, es wird ein Regen sein,

He remembered the song well. 

Ein Regen aus den Wolken  
Wohl in das grüne Gras.

Caleb remembered Bren. He remembered him abstractly, like someone he used to know, like someone he was trying to mourn. He nearly tried to hum along, to allow himself a release. Nothing would come out. 

Und kommst du, liebe Sonn, nit bald,  
So weset alls im grünen Wald;  
Und all die müden Blumen,  
Die haben müden Tod.

He hadn’t noticed his eyes close as her voice washed over him. Bringing back the memories he was most afraid of. The glint in Astrid’s eyes when they discussed plans, Eodwulf’s boisterous laugh. Determination, yearning, dreaming. 

Es geht eine dunkle Wolk herein.  
Es soll und muss geschieden sein.  
Ade Feinslieb, dein Scheiden  
Macht mir das Herze schwer.

As she finished he opened his eyes again. The few patrons left in the bar paid them no mind, the bard looked at him, he nodded once at her, solemnly. 

“Thank you, what is your name? I’m sorry, I forgot to ask before.” His words slurred a bit, he was self conscious he must have looked a complete, sentimental fool. “I’m Liesel. I hope you find whatever you seem to be looking for.” she offered. “Caleb.” He returned, “You’re very insightful. Thank you for your music.” They nodded to each other and he went upstairs to join Nott, passing into a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If anyone has requests maybe I'll try to write 'em!


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